


A Snake of a Lover

by Thranduil_is_a_bitchking



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, Future Fic, M/M, Sad times, detective! Bard, everyone is human, policeman! Bard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:44:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4063858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thranduil_is_a_bitchking/pseuds/Thranduil_is_a_bitchking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard really just wants to marry Thranduil. Is that really to much to ask?</p>
<p>But the string of murders that are somehow linked with the notorious Elvenking have other ideas, and Detective Bard Bowman may get more than he bargained for.</p>
<p>REPOSTED BECAUSE OF CHAPTER ORDER FUCK UPS</p>
<p>***((UPDATED!!))***</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my second Barduil fic of all time! 
> 
> So, I was listening to "Show me How you Burlesque" from the film, and I was hit with the inspiration for this fic. It may not come to anything special, but there we go... It's a future!fic because I've been watching too much Almost Human, seriously Karl Urban as John Kennex is just wow... I am no future expert, so please excuse any errors on my part.... This also got a bit more angsty that I had intended... Oops!
> 
> As per the norm, my lovelies,  
> Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the "official" first chapter of this fic! I hope you all enjoy it, because it was fun to write. Not a long note tonight, as it's super early and I'm tired, but I thank you all in advance for reading!
> 
> This has a bit of a backstory in it, which I made up, and I'm totally massing with all aspects of canon here...
> 
> As usual,  
> Enjoy!

Damn if that man was going to get away, Bard thought as he sprinted down the dark alleyways of San Fransisco, Percy at his side. The man they were chasing was up for triple homicide, assault of a police officer, perverting the course of justice and many others that Bard really couldn't be bothered to list. Turning left so sharply he almost skidded into a wall, Bard growled and sped up his pace. Just as they were gaining ground, a shot rang out and the man dropped dead, a hole in his forehead where his life should have been. 

God damn it, this was the fourth time this had happened! Whoever was behind this, because there was no way these weren't connected, was tying up loose ends. They weren't fast enough, they never were. No matter what, the suspect always ended up with a bullet in the brain. Every time. Bard growled in frustration as his eyes frantically scanned the surrounding area for the shooter, but as usual, he couldn't see anything. The flashing lights of the city attracted his gaze, like a smoke screen covering the shooter's movements.

"Damn it!" Percy shouted, top lip pulled up into a snarl. It was infuriating, how they always managed to loose the shooter. Bard sighed heavily, holstering his gun and moving to check the surrounding area as Percy called in the body. Within minutes, androids, drones and humans alike were scouring the scene. It was pointless, they would find nothing, they always did. All that waited for them when they returned to the precinct was a pile of paperwork and a mounting sense of failure.

It was full of vexation, then, that Bard returned home at the end of that gruelling shift, throwing his car keys into the bowl by the door to his flat. The captain hadn't been happy. It's not that she took it as a personal failure on Bard's part, but everyone was annoyed that the whoever was behind this was always one step ahead. Always. It didn't help matters that there was serious congestion ground level on the way home.

Glancing at the holoclock, he sighed. Almost 2am. Making himself a coffee as quietly as he could, he fell into a chair and opened the file on the suspect-turned-victim. There had to be a connection, there just had to be. 

"Bard?" A voice came from the doorway two hours later, when he'd made absolutely no headway and had ended up more confused and frustrated than he was to begin with. Bard looked up to see his boyfriend of five years and fiancé of one look at him through tired eyes. He'd met Thranduil in London several years ago, both of them in their twenties. It all felt like a lifetime ago now, but Thranduil's companionship was constant, especially after the death of Bard's wife, leaving him with three young children. Tilda was only two months old.

"Thranduil." Bard smiled, closing his eyes when he felt Thranduil's lips on the top of his head. "How was Paris?"

"As could be expected." Thranduil shrugged, his long blond hair falling past his shoulders and onto Bard's. "René signed the contract, it's paid for another year's wages, all's well. What's that?"

"Case file." Bard began, voice edged with frustration. There was one time when he'd barely even brought up work around Thranduil, but now he'd come to trust his lover and he knew the the blond wouldn't breathe a word of what they spoke about outside of these moments when they were alone.

"Want to talk about it?" Thranduil asked. Bard shook his head, he didn't want to think about the case anymore. Maybe a good night's sleep would help. He could look at it with a fresh mind in the morning. 

"Then it's time for bed." Thranduil said, taking Bard's hand and helping him out of the chair, leading him up to their bedroom. Bard followed obediently, relishing in the kiss Thranduil graced him with when they got there. Bard sighed as he removed his suit, not without help and hinderance from Thranduil, put on a fresh pair of boxers and a t-shirt and slipped into bed, wrapping a protective arm around the blond. It didn't take either of them long to fall asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Thranduil wasn't entirely sure how it happened. Bard was at work, the kids at their grandmother's and he was left in the house alone. It had been raining all day, so the clean up had been hard, and he felt like the bottle and a half of wine he'd drank was well deserved. Bard had, of course, attempted to curb his drinking habit, but to no avail. He had tried, but when you led a life like he did, the best course of action was to drink to forget. And he needed to forget often. 

He was understandably shocked, then, when he felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed into his temple. His outward facade was as calm and collected as always when he plucked the cigarette lazily from between his lips, not bothering to open his eyes to face whatever fool had thought to threaten him.

"You will look at me when I kill you." The person said, feminine voice very familiar to him, but he couldn't place it.

"If it's all the same to you..." Thranduil began before finding himself suddenly pinned against the floor, hands closing around his throat. Well, whoever this was certainly had anger management issues. Before he could even fight back, he was choking on the liquid that was being poured into his mouth, and he had no choice but to swallow by reflex. His throat burned immediately and his whole body protested violently to whatever he'd ingested. Oh, this was so not how he wanted to die.

Somehow, he managed to grab the vase from the table and bring it crashing down on top of his attacker, who's feminine features were achingly familiar to him. She cried out and retreated just enough for him to land a punch. Woman or not, this bitch was going to regret this so much. Their fight was mostly physical, with knifes, daggers and whatever else they could get a hold of. Thranduil sighed when the woman's knife scraped across the table.

"That's mahogany." He chided, taking a knife and driving it into her thigh. She screamed and stabbed him with something that made his vision blur. A syringe fell to the floor as she injected him with another hypospray, and she levelled her gun to his chest as he struggled to stand. The sound of the door opening and closing was enough to stop her from putting a bullet into his aorta, thank the gods, and they both froze when Bard's voice carried from the hall downstairs.

"Go on, what's stopping you? Don't you want him to find you standing over the corpse, is that it?" Thranduil practically slurred, trying to work his mind through the haze of lightheadedness from whatever it was she'd given him. He took a staggered step forward before collapsing onto his hands and knees, vision tilting dangerously to the right. It wasn't long before his strength failed him, and he dropped to lie on his side, vision now beginning to blacken. 

"As much as it would give me pleasure to see you dead, Thranduil, my quarrel is not with him." She snarled, slipping the hypospray into Thranduil's now limp hand, stained with her blood. "Goodbye meleth nín." She said on the way out of the window, and her identity hit him like a ton of bricks. No, it couldn't be her, she was long dead.

"Thranduil!" Bard shouted as he came in, dropping his bag and running towards his fiancé, taking the hypospray out of his hand and examining it. "What did you take Thranduil?"

All Thranduil managed to do was let out a low groan, hand reaching out for the phone that had been brought down with the table. Bard took the phone away from him, placing it out of his reach, taking Thranduil hope of tracking her with it. The last thing he saw before he passed out were his bloody handprints and the scratch in the table.

He groggily woke feeling like he'd been hit by a freight train. Repeatedly. He couldn't really remember much, bits and pieces here and there. He remembered stabbing someone, vaguely, and he remembered someone drugging him. Whoever his attacker had been, he couldn't remember them, but there was a familiar ache in his chest, a niggling at the back of his mind. The uneasiness that settled over him did nothing to help his headache. 

"You're up." Came a voice to his left, and all Thranduil could do was groan in response, his throat dry and scratchy. Scratch the freight trains, he felt like he'd been thrown out of an aircraft at 6,000 feet. He tried to ask what time it was, but it sounded unintelligible even to his own ears. So instead, he grabbed Bard's hand and pulled him onto the bed beside him, ignoring the ringing in his ears. He would be fine in a day or two, once whatever he'd been drugged with wore off. Bard was talking, but he couldn't make out what was being said. Mentally shrugging, he pressed himself closer to his fiancé, snuggling into his chest.

Fuck this, he was going back to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Thranduil slid into a chair, mind already slightly clouded by the alcohol he'd consumed. Tilda, Bain and Sigrid were asleep and he had time before Bard returned. His handgun lay on the table, open and cleaned, a half empty bottle of whiskey and a packet of cigarettes next to it. Rolling his shoulders, he took a cigarette out of the packet and slid it into his mouth, lighting it with a match. There were, of course, more technologically advanced ways of giving himself lung cancer, but he was old fashioned in that sense he supposed. Taking a long drag, he slipped the cartridge back in and gripped the gun in his right hand, watching as the small light turned green as it recognised and accepted his fingerprints. 

"Clean mine while you're there?" Legolas asked as he walked in, dropping a handgun of his own onto the table as the cold air from the corridor was cut off by the clunk of the door. "Bard won't like you smoking."

"Bard isn't here." Thranduil shrugged in reply, slapping his son's hand away when he reached for the packet, the smoke from his cigarette lingering in the dim lighting of the overhead lamp. The younger rolled his eyes and reached for the bottle instead, taking his father's glass and pouring himself a generous helping. "Anything wrong with getting a glass of your own?"

"Kitchen's too far." Legolas said, downing the liquid in one. Thranduil raised his eyebrows at him as he set about disassembling the gun to clean.

"Hey, I'm the one with the drinking problem here. And don't smoke, you're not old enough."

"You're 32. That's only a 15 year difference." Legolas said in reply, dropping into the chair opposite his father. "I'm surprised you can still breathe, so stop nagging."

"Yes well, I've had 15 extra years to decide how to hasten my inevitable early death, you haven't." Thranduil chuckled, taking a drag from the cigarette to prove his point. "And besides, you're 17 and my son, I'll use whatever precious oxygen my lungs can still process to nag you with."

"Until you're no longer here to nag me." Legolas laughed with a fond smile, sliding the bottle of gun oil over to his father. "At this rate, I'll be the one to put the bullet through your head just to shut you up."

"I'm offended." Thranduil gasped in mock offence, wiping the last of the solvent from the barrel. Legolas only laughed, leaning back in his chair and taking out his holophone, scrolling through pages and pages of texts to pass the time until his father had finished. Some time later, a series of clicks signalled that Thranduil had finished, and the gun slid across the table. Legolas smiled gratefully and picked it up, inspecting it unnecessarily before placing it back in its holster. 

"Tauriel said that the shipment arrived this afternoon. I was on my way back from checking the inventory. Everything's good to go." Legolas said, standing and going to get a glass from the cabinet nearby. 

"It seems René did his job for once." Thranduil replied, putting his cigarette in an ashtray before lighting another.

"Yup." Legolas said, pouring himself and his father another glass of whiskey after sitting back down. He made no comment on his father's obvious chain-smoking.

"Make sure everything's ready to be shipped tomorrow, I don't need Oakensheild breathing down my neck about this, the imbecile that he is."

"I still don't understand why he thinks he has any power over you." Legolas huffed, relaying his father's orders through a secure comm to their people nevertheless.

"He doesn't. He hasn't had power over anyone since Smaug, and now with Azog and Bolg on his case, he's in no place to be making demands. But alas, he needs the shipment by Monday." 

"It's not like we need the money Ada."

"No, but we have a reputation of being reliable and I intend to maintain it." Thranduil explained, stretching and downing his drink in one gulp. "Now, as much as I adore your company ion nín, Bard is due home soon and I need to clean this mess up."

"He still thinks you're a respectable business man, CEO of your father's company?" Legolas asked as they both stood, amused.

"Of course. I've given him no reason to think otherwise." Thranduil replied, unlocking a drawer under the cabinet with a scan of his fingerprint and sliding the gun inside, along with everything he'd used to clean the gun with. "Be a doll and put this in the bin for me on your way out." 

"Sure." Legolas chuckled, taking the used cleaning supplies out of his father's hands and putting them in a bag. "Cleaning guns while drunk probably isn't the best idea you've ever had Adar." He reprimanded as he noticed his father sway slightly. Thranduil just waved him off.

"Nor is it the worst." He said, kissing his son lightly on the cheek before taking another long drag of his cigarette. "Now go, Galion will have my head to see you driving so late."

"Bye Adar." Legolas chuckled, embracing his father quickly before leaving, dropping the bag into the bin to be incinerated on his way out.

Thranduil didn't bother putting out his cigarette when Bard walked in, nor did he move from his position on the sofa, draped over the cushions with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and the cigarette in another. He'd given up on a glass half an hour after Legolas has left, and had settled upon drinking from the bottle as an old 21st century film played on the television. He blew the smoke out through his nose before taking a lazy swig from the bottle, the edges of his vision slightly blurred. 

"I thought you'd stopped smoking." Bard said in a tight voice, stopping just shy of the threshold. "And drinking."

"You thought wrong then." Thranduil shrugged, aware of just how nasty he could be when drunk, but too intoxicated to rein himself in. "Why do you even care? It's not like I care about you."

Bard inhaled sharply but otherwise didn't reply. Instead he walked towards Thranduil with the intent to take either the bottle, the cigarette or both out of Thranduil's hands. Something dangerous flashed in the blond's eyes when he got close, and Bard very nearly took a step back. He settled for swiping the empty packet off of the table instead, Thranduil must have smoked them all, and left to put it in the bin. When he returned the bottle was empty and on the floor, Thranduil using his free hand to scroll through his phone, cigarette perched neatly between two long fingers. The blond made the whole thing look unbelievably regal, and when he put the cigarette between his lips, even his intake of breath was graceful and controlled. 

"You didn't answer me." Thranduil reminded him, looking entirely nonchalant. 

"Go to bed Thranduil." Bard said, his voice hard, Thranduil's words ringing in his head. 'It's not like I care about you.' Bard knew that Thranduil was well and truly drunk. He also knew that drunk people were more inclined to tell the truth. Thranduil gave him a sidelong glance and snorted, reaching over himself to flick ash into the ashtray before refocusing his attention on the phone as it began ringing. 

"Yes... They did what?!" Thranduil almost shouted, swinging his legs around, stubbed out his cigarette and stood in one fluid movement. Bard did take a step back when Thranduil growled low in the back of his throat and spoke in a language Bard didn't understand, though it sounded faintly like German. He didn't have to know what he was saying to get the memo. Thranduil was royally pissed off. He never thought he'd be afraid of Thranduil, but there it was, the tight coil of fear in his stomach, twisting and expanding until he felt his hands shake. He snapped out of his thoughts when Thranduil hung up and grabbed his coat. 

"Woah, no way." Bard warned loudly, forgetting his children who were asleep not three feet away. There was no way he was letting Thranduil walk out of this house as drunk as he was, no way. He was well aware of the volume and tone of his voice when Thranduil picked up his car keys. "You're not driving! Thranduil!"

"I'm not going to drive you imbecile." Thranduil snapped as he opened a drawer underneath the cabinet, grabbing something Bard couldn't see before slamming it closed. There was a familiar click, Bard couldn't quite place where he'd heard it before, then Thranduil was texting someone and downing a vial of green liquid that seemed to sober him up unbelievably quickly. Bard's instincts were screaming at him to do something, to move, to stop him, anything, but his lover's words were pining him to the floor. Thranduil never insulted him, ever. 

"Thranduil, I'm not letting you leave this house in the state you're in!"

"I didn't think this was up for discussion." Thranduil said, growling when Bard moved to stop him. "You will move Bard Bowman, or so help me."

"Thran-"

"Move or I will move you." He growled, physically shoving Bard out of the way with a snarl when the brunet stood his ground, reloading his pistol and checking his knives as he went once he was in the darkness of the corridor. The door closed with a thunk and Bard was left alone. Sighing, the brunet cleared the ash away and opened a window, hoping the the acrid smell of tobacco would be gone by morning. 

Neither noticed Tilda, pressed up against the wall as she clutched her stuffed bear to her chest.


	4. Crashes

Thranduil was lying through his teeth when he said he wouldn't drive. The thing about the 22nd century was that there were cures for the mundane and his people had come up with a quick solution for intoxication. Thanks to the contents of that small green vial he'd drunk before he left, he was completely sober. Putting the car into fifth, he was grateful for the early morning traffic, or the lack of thereof.

Galion had called, saying that a band of Ungoliants had begun a shoot out at the docks, and while they'd been swiftly and effectively dealt with, they had one spare for questioning. This is where he came in. Torture was a special talent of his, and seeming as this Ungoliant would never see the light of day again, he and his people could have their fun. He'd leave the body for Bard to play with, maybe. 

He pulled up to the old abandoned warehouse, handing the car over to an underling who would park it somewhere less obvious and walked the short distance to the warehouse. Tauriel and Legolas met him outside, both smiling at him. This would be a family bonding session, then. It was 2am, and the whole dockland was bathed in black aside from the light the drifted from the half open door. Tauriel had a smattering of blood on her cheek, but otherwise her appearance was immaculate, her long auburn hair pulled back into an intricate braid. Both her and Legolas wore similar black clothing, accessorised with leather. Thranduil hadn't had time to change, but he was sure his white short sleeved shirt and black trousers were perfectly suitable for the occasion. Legolas briefed him on the situation, then they were pushing the door to the darkened warehouse open, and Thranduil smirked dangerously at the poor man chained to the floor. Oh, he would have his fun here. 

It was five days before they broke him, five days of relentless pain filled questioning that began as quest for knowledge but ended as a game. It was not often Thranduil got his hands dirty, so he relished in the man's screams, whimpers and begs, laughed at his pain, his agony and enjoyed watching the life drain from his eyes when he finally grew bored and ended his misery. It also worked as a great way for Legolas and Tauriel to refine their methods, to experiment and expand their knowledge. It was no secret that the Elvenking was a master torturer, his name almost brought the man to his knees before they'd even started, and Legolas and Tauriel felt privileged to have observed their father's work. 

"Clean this up." Thranduil ordered, an underling scurrying off to do as he asked, awed by his presence. Not many saw the head of their organisation face to face, his name carried like whispers through the ranks. Those select few who did, they knew their worth. They were the best of the best. 

Thranduil sighed. He was covered head to toe in blood, so much so that it dripped from his hair, his white shirt now a deep crimson. Legolas and Tauriel hadn't come out much cleaner either, so they were driven to their underground headquarters, the road through the tunnels heavily armed and guarded. When they got there, an old converted mine that everyone including the government had forgotten about, they handed the car over to be dealt with before they showered, cleansing themselves of any foreign DNA via specifically coded nanobots and changed into clean clothes. They then set about sorting out these Ungoliants, including finding out who was organising everything. 

"It seems that they're the disposables of Dol Guldur sir." Galion said as he, Thranduil, Legolas and Tauriel sat around the table in the conference room, Legolas calibrating his arrows while Tauriel kept tabs on the clean up operation. 

"The Necromancer? We wouldn't do well to underestimate him-"

"Pardon the interruption sir, but your name's been flagged on our security systems." Amara, a young British woman who was practically Thranduil's PA said as she poked her head through the door. 

"By whom?" Thranduil asked, dismissing Galion and his children apologetically before following her out. 

"By San Fransisco PD sir. I wouldn't normally inform you, we get thousands of hits per day worldwide, but...well, they searched your real name, sir." She stated, heels clicking on the metallic floor. Thranduil's first thought was that they'd made him, but he dismissed it immediately. 

"Under what reason?" He queried. He knew the police were getting incredibly close, especially on the murder cases, the cases Bard was working, and Thranduil would have dealt with him long ago if he didn't love the detective as much as he did. He was a valuable source of information. Through his liaison with Bard, Thranduil had gotten to know most of the precinct, and Percy and Anita, Bard's partner and boss, were regular guests at their house. Thranduil had even gone through the difficulty of making the Master and Alfird disappear after he found out about how they were treating Bard. So really, no one there had any reason to doubt him.

"Missing persons." She said after flicking through her tablet to find the message. Thranduil suddenly remembered that it had been almost a week since he'd seen Bard last, or even phoned him for that matter.

"Shit." Thranduil muttered, cursing Bard for filing a missing person's report. He couldn't just slip back, a half hearted explanation wouldn't be sufficient. Especially not after the state Bard had thought he'd left in. 

"We intercepted the report, so it hasn't been filed. How should we proceed?"

"Don't file it. I don't need my name anywhere anyone can access it on file."

"Of course sir." Amara said, tapping in the code to delete the report. "What about Bard sir?"

"I'll call him. Change the location to somewhere else, I don't really need him to know where I am if they trace it."

"Of course sir." She repeated, a fondness in her voice as she smiled. "Give me a shout when you need it done sir."

"Will do dear." Thranduil smiled, letting her go on her way back to whatever it was she was doing before. Sighing, he made his way back to the conference room. They needed to have a talk abut the Necromancer before he even began thinking about Bard.

They discussed the possible threat of the Necromancer through the night, and by then Thranduil had sent Tauriel and Legolas home. It was around 4am when he and Galion had finished, and the other offered him a lift home.

"It'd be no trouble, Fernir's driving anyway. And besides, you have no car." Galion pointed out as they made their way out. Thranduil agreed, he was tired and he didn't trust himself to be able to drive at this level of sleep deprivation. They got in the car and were coming to a cross section when Thranduil decided it would be a good time to phone Bard. Unsurprisingly, Bard didn't answer, so Thranduil left a voicemail. He barely got a word out before Galion's shout and Fernir's scream cut him off. The car lurched violently to the side, glass flying and metal buckling under the force of whatever had collided with them. The car flipped and rolled, the left side of the vehicle buckling in on itself. 

The car scraped to a halt, upside down and wrapped around a fence. Galion was the first to respond, blinking through the disoriented haze of darkness that clouded his vision to see a HGV drive away. Looking ahead, he saw the almost unrecognisable body of Fernir, a metal beam running through the windscreen and into his chest, eyes open but unseeing. To his left was Thranduil, neck twisted awkwardly to one side, the rest of his body covered in blood and gashes. 

"Thranduil? Thranduil!" Galion shouted, crying out in pain as he tried to move. "Don't be dead, oh god, please don't be dead." He begged softly, trying to regulate his breathing as his fried lay there, unresponsive. Galion then took stock of himself. His arm was bent painfully and his legs trapped between Fernir's seat that had clearly been shunted back by the force of the impact with the barrier. Fernir was dead, there was no doubt about that, but Galion had no idea if Thranduil was alive or not. He couldn't move enough to check, but managed to shift the ruin of his phone out of his pocket enough to painfully dial Amara's number. 

"Hello?" She answered, customary cheerfulness to her voice as it rang out through the wreckage. "Galion?"

"Car crash...Fernir...he's...dead...Th-Thranduil..." He choked out, the phantom pain from the back of his head darkening his vision. 

"I'm tracing your call now, don't hang up." She said, grounding him somewhat. "We've got med teams on the way, hold on Galion okay." 

He nodded, even though she couldn't see, and let his whole body go limp, shock beginning to set in. Next thing he knew, he was outside on the road, being loaded onto a stretcher and into the back of a van, oxygen mask firmly over his nose and mouth, the beeping of the heart monitor reassuring himself that he was, in fact, still alive. He slipped into the void of unconsciousness, and knew no more.


	5. Chapter 5

Bard sat at his desk in the precinct, hands drumming nervously on the table. A week, a whole week he hadn't heard from Thranduil. He'd tried calling, but it went straight to voicemail. In an act of desperation, he tried tracing the phone, but to no avail. Either it was dead, turned off or broken. 

He was triply worried because Thranduil had lied to him and had taken the car. He'd woken up the morning after, only to find and Thranduil and the car gone. He was angry then, but now he was worried. What if he'd crashed? He was in no state to drive, and the roads were dark...

"Car crash just south of the city." Anita said, breaking him out of his thoughts. "One fatality." 

"What?" Bard breathed, dread filling him. What if it was Thranduil?

"The car belonged to a Fernir Lúinwë. It seems as if he was the only one in the car when the incident happened. Bard, Percy, I want you to go down and take a look, process the scene. Take your bots with you."

"Yes ma'am." Percy responded, picking up his gear the same time as a Bard did, their bots following them out. 

When they reached the scene, Bard had to take a moment. The car, if it could still be called that, was wrapped around a barrier, but its shape suggested that something big had slammed into the left of the vehicle. When they got closer, it became evident that someone had forced the rear doors open, and there was too much blood for just one person. 

"There appears to be two additional DNA samples present in the rear of the vehicle." A bot said, its voice monotone as it came to stand before Bard.

"Can you run them?" Bard asked. There was a moment of silence while the bot ran and cross referenced the DNA samples. 

"The DNA samples belong to Thranduil Oropherion and Galion Lossëhelin." 

"No. No, you're wrong. Run them again."

"The results are correct and accurate Detective Bowman."

"No!" Bard shouted, unwilling to accept what was in front of him.

"Bard." Percy said, coming to stand beside him and placing a comforting arm on his shoulder.

"He's not, he can't be." Bard shook, a wave of grief so strong washing over him, he nearly collapsed against Percy. 

"Diagnostics show that this communicating device belonged to Thranduil Oropherion. The last call on the device was to Detective Bowman. It's still actively calling. Shall I terminate the call?" Another bot spoke, holding the smashed, blood soaked phone in one hand as Bard scrambled to take out his phone. Percy nodded to the bot, and as soon as it hung up, an icon appeared on Bard's phone. He tapped on the message, hands shaking so much that it took him two goes.

One missed call from Thranduil. 

"One new voicemail, received 8:43am.

'Hey, I'm okay, just-  
'Fernir!!'"

The all stood and listened at the sound of metal and glass breaking, the scraping of the car's roof as it bounced and slid into the barrier. The sound of the metal bar smashing though the windscreen and into the driver's chest could be heard clearly over the noise of the car settling. 

"'Thranduil? Thranduil! Dont be dead, oh god please don't be dead.'"

Bard stopped listening, handing the phone to Percy as his hands shook too much to hold it. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, only tuning back in when he heard the bot fast forward through the silence. 

"'Get them out and onto the flat. Watch Thranduil's neck, it looks broken. I'm worried about his spine. He's taken a nasty blow to the head, be very careful moving him.'

'He's unresponsive, I want an IV line prepped and ready, we'll need a blood transfusion, get Legolas on the phone.'

'Aye sir.'

'What about Fernir sir?'

'We don't have time to extract him, the police will be here soon, just focus on Galion and Thranduil. I want them both alive.'

'Yes sir.'"

There was an incredibly long silence while the bot fast forwarded again before sirens could be heard, signalling the arrival of the police. They heard the bot's words about finding the phone, then:

"End of message. To repeat message, press 1. To delete, press-"

The message ended abruptly as Percy hung up, handing the phone back to Bard, face full of sympathy. 

"Where did they take him?" Bard asked, detective instincts kicking in and somewhat overriding his grief. "More importantly, who took him?"

"Well, let's find out." Percy said, patting Bard reassuringly on the shoulder. "Let's get back, we can analyse the voicemail better there."

"Yeah." Bard agreed, following his friend to the car, staring blankly out of the window as they drove.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! With, hopefully, two chapters.think of it as an apology. 
> 
> Anyway, as per usual,  
> Enjoy!

Legolas paced back and forth in the hospital wing of their headquarters, Tauriel by his side. She was hunched in a chair, nursing a cup of coffee in shaking hands. 

"Legolas, brother, sit down, please. Pacing will not make father any better." She said softly, welcoming his embrace once he'd sat down. 

Thranduil had been so young when he'd had Legolas, the accident that had led to his mother's capture and death. It had broken him, for he had truly loved her. Thranduil was 15 when he'd had Legolas, and 17 when he'd had Tauriel, pressured by the requirements of a mission. She had no doubt that Thranduil loved them both equally and without measure. Now, Legolas was 17, she 15, and even though their father had tried so hard to keep them out of his lifestyle, this lifestyle, it was hard for a young, single father to run one of the world's most notorious and biggest crime networks with children of one and three. Oropher, Thranduil's father, had died when Thranduil was 18. Their father reassured them that Oropher loved them both, and sought to keep them out of the business. But Sauron had put an end to that ideal. Oropher had been shot, in front of his son, the resulting fire had left many trapped. Thranduil among them. He was left to run the organisation and raise two children on his own. He drank and he smoked, but he was never distant, nor was he cold. They'd lived in London until Thranduil had met Bard. 

Tauriel couldn't remember much about first meeting Bard. She was three, Legolas five. Her father was 20, he must have been, and three years after the unlikely romance between the world's most wanted crime boss and a police officer on loan to London, they found themselves living in San Francisco in a nice enough flat bought with Thranduil's money, and they'd lived with Bard and his three children. 

Then Smaug came.

Smaug had taken Erebor down in one clean sweep, but Thranduil's arm was twisted up his back by Smaug who had threatened to take them from him. Their father had responded by taking Tauriel and Legolas into hiding, giving Legolas a gun and telling him to protect his sister. The notorious Elvenking could only stand, watch and protect his own people as Smaug claimed Erebor, sparing few. Now, Azog the Defiler was out for the Oakensheilds' blood. She prayed her father didn't get involved in that. 

"Legolas, Tauriel." Elrond greeted them as he walked in, a somber look on his face. He was slightly older that Thranduil, but he and their father were close friends. It gave her hope that he was the one operating on him. 

"How is he?" Legolas asked, blunt in his worry. A tired smile crossed Elrond's face as he spoke.

"He should be fine, he'll be unconscious for awhile, but with luck, he should make a full recovery." He said, taking a step back to accommodate Tauriel as she threw herself into his arms, thanking him profusely. What Elrond didn't tell them was that Thranduil had flatlined three times and had almost not come back from the third. 

"And Galion?" Legolas asked, no small amount of relief in his voice. 

"Galion fared the best out of the three, possibly because Thranduil took the brunt of the impact as he was on the left of the vehicle. The regenerator worked well on his legs and arms, so he'll be up and about in a couple of days."

"Good, okay." Legolas breathed, letting himself relax like he hadn't in hours. "I need to see Bard." 

"I'll come." Tauriel said, smiling sheepishly as she stepped away from Elrond. 

"No, stay here with Adar, I won't be long." Legolas said, thanking Elrond before leaving, all but running to his car and driving to the precinct. He parked the car haphazardly, and pushed the glass door open, asking the woman at the front desk to tell him where Bard was. 

"He's on the third floor sweetheart, first on your left when you step out of the lift." She informed him, her voice laced with a southern drawl. He smiled and thanked her, riding the turbo-lift to the third floor. It took him no time to find Bard, hunched over a cup of coffee, much like Tauriel had been, in the break room. 

"Bard." Legolas began, watching as the man's head snapped up. 

"Legolas." Bard choked out. "Your father..."

"I know." Legolas began, but before he could say any more, his attention was drawn by his phone. A text from Amara. 

'Necromancer is Sauron. He's behind this. Code black.'

"He...the crash. It snapped his neck. There was nothing anyone could do." Legolas breathed, allowing one tear to roll down his cheek. Code black meant lie through your teeth. Code black meant his father was dead.

"It's my fault, I shouldn't have let him go."

"No Bard, no. You couldn't have stopped him." Legolas said, accepting the embrace Bard pulled him into. He felt slightly guilty, putting Bard through this heart-wrenching emotional pain, but if it would keep Bard and his children safe, it was a necessary evil. 

Legolas tensed, feeling unfamiliar panic set in. Over the detective's shoulder, he saw a man he never wanted to see. Curunír. The elder of the Istari had broken away and had made his allegiance clear. He was loyal to Sauron and then to himself, and not even Galadriel had seen it coming. "Bard, why is he here?" 

"Who, Saruman?" Bard asked as he pulled back, turning to look over his shoulder. "He's our consultant."

"Why?" Legolas demanded, but before Bard could answer, Saruman was there, his white suit perfectly tailored, his cane - purely ornamental of course - held in his right hand and his long beard groomed. It was then that Bard took his leave, sensing the growing hostility he didn't really want to get involved in. Legolas' hands were clenched into fists though, so he stayed near enough to hear their conversation and to step in incase things got physical.

"Legolas. What a pleasure it is to see you again. You were so small last time I saw you. How's your father? I heard he was in a terrible accident."

"He-" Legolas began, voice choked up with tears. "He didn't... It killed him."

"Oh how terrible. Please accept our condolences." The elder said, voice dripping with false sweetness. It made Legolas want to take a knife and rip out his voice box.

"Thank you sir."

"Whatever will you do now?"

"Business as usual I suppose. With all due respect, sir, why are you here?" Legolas questioned, still keeping himself small and vulnerable, playing on his youth. Saruman would underestimate him and it would be his undoing.

"Oh you know, just doing my bit."

"In all seriousness sir, you don't have a bit of good in you. Neither did my father. It's why you're good at what you do." He said, remembering his father's words of wisdom. Flattery would get you everywhere. Since his allegiance with Sauron, Saruman had a tendency to do the whole 'my evil plan is better than yours' with a degree or narcissism unparalleled in the business. Not even Oakensheild's pride matched up to Saruman's. 

"You got me, child." The old man laughed, adjusting his grip on his cane. His laugh was sinister, and it left Bard wondering just how true Legolas' previous statement was. "But alas, there are too many people here for me to disclose that information."

"Another time, then." The blond said, voice implying that the next time they saw each other, there would be bloodshed. 

"Perhaps." Saruman agreed, standing straighter. "I am truly sorry for your loss, prince. Or should I say king?" He finished in way of parting, voice mocking as he left. Legolas growled at the snide reference to his father's title, and itched to pull his gun and show the fool just what he thought about his father's supposed death. But, such impulsiveness would only make things worse, anger both his father and Bard and probably get him arrested, so better not. A sparring session with Aragorn, Elrond's adoptive son, would be needed when he got back. Just as he was about to leave, Bard's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Legolas."

"Yes."

"To answer your question, Saruman is here to help us track the Elvenking." Bard said quietly, completely unaware of Legolas' growing fury until it exploded. "He's here to help us bring him down."

"That bastard!" The blond shouted as he turned and punched the wall to his left, the least violent outlet to his anger he could find. He'd need to kill someone later, he just new it. Maybe Amara had an assassination job he could do. 

"Leg-"

"Shut up! Just shut up Bard!" He snapped, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to contain his rage. Someone would die today. 

"If I could have everyone's attention." Saruman began, grabbing Legolas' attention. The blond knew exactly what he was going to say before he said it, and had already drawn his gun. "I have found your Elvenking, he-" Saruman was cut off by a bullet to the throat and the gurgle of blood filling his mouth was the only sound in the room as he swayed before collapsing to the floor. Two officers were already moving to restrain Legolas before Bard got over his shock, but by that time, the blond was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The promised second chapter of the day!  
> Enjoy!

Legolas sat in his car, well on his way back before his phone rang. Tauriel was on the other side, and she didn't sound pleased. 

"What the actual fuck 'Las?" She practically shouted. Legolas knew she was pacing without needing to see her. 

"He was about to out father to the whole force, it was either stop him or see Adar executed, which one would you have chosen?" He asked, voice hard. She sighed heavily. 

"He won't be happy with you."

"I know. How is he?"

"Alive. Amara told me about the code black. Does Bard know?" 

"He thinks Adar's dead. Saruman was there, I had no choice."

"We'd better have people keep and eye on him then. I'll get Aragorn and the twins to go." 

"Thanks Tau." 

"Yeah yeah, don't mention it. On another note, Galion's better. He feels terrible though."

"Why?"

"He was the one that convinced Ada to go home and offered him a lift. He thinks that this wouldn't have happened if he'd left Thranduil here. It's bull. Sauron had people at the flat. Even if Ada had made it home, he wouldn't have made it through the door." She said, unknowingly promoting Legolas to remember a moment when Thranduil had opened the door to three bullets to the abdomen. The only thing that had saved Legolas' life was the cowardice of an assassin who hesitated long enough for Thranduil to put a bullet of his own through his forehead. That was the first time Legolas had met Elrond, the kind doctor that had fixed his father and had looked after him and his sister. The kind doctor they'd called Uncle until quite recently. Elrond was family, and Legolas was glad for it.

-0-

Bard felt nothing after Legolas had disappeared. He'd seen the child he'd raised as his own son shoot someone in the face in cold blood. The numbness had repressed the grief, but as soon as Anita asked him if he'd heard anything about the car crash in a vain attempt to return the situation to some form of normalcy, he'd broken down. Anita, full of sympathy, had told him to take two weeks off, to be with his family. His next door neighbour, bless her, had been picking the kids up from school while he'd been working late, so that was one less thing he needed to do.

He went straight home, and the wave of grief that hit him when he closed the door was stronger that that of when he lost his wife. Letting out a agonised sob, he fell back against the door as his knees gave out. His head fell into his hands as he cried. Sigrid, his beautiful 15 year old, looked on concernedly from the door to the living room. 

"Da?" She asked, approaching him warily before falling to her knees next to him and wrapping herself around him. Bard only cried harder, and she bit her lip in worry. "Da, da what is it? What's happened, where's Adar?" 

"Is he gone?" Tilda asked, and Sigrid was floored by the coldness in the nine year old's voice. 

"Tilda!"

"No! He had a gun! He was going to hurt you!" She defended, the childishness of her voice a stark contrast to her earlier monotone. Bard looked up, confused and wary.

"When did he have a gun Tilda?" Sigrid asked, keeping her tone soft and reassuring, but Tilda shook her head and stepped back.

"You don't believe me! He did! I saw it!"

"Nobody's saying he didn't da'lin' okay. Now tell me when he had the gun." Bard soothed.

"I'd had a bad dream and I came downstairs but he was shouting at you, and you were shouting back a-and he had a gun when he left, I saw him!!" She cried, bordering on hysterical. Bard picked himself up and opened his arms to hug her. She ran into them and held on tight, shaking in his arms. 

Bard then stood, his youngest still clinging on to him, and called everyone to the kitchen. They sat around the island, and Bard told them Thranduil wasn't coming back, that he was dead. Bain shouted and raged before holing himself up in his room for hours, Tilda burst into tears while Sigrid sat there and nodded, strong for her family. She remembered her mother's death, and remembered how her father had fallen apart. She would be strong for him, for them. They would get through this, together. Giving her father a hug, she took Tilda away and to bed. 

Bard sat there, duct taping himself back together. He would speak with Sigrid in the morning, but for now he was content to let himself break. Going to the cabinet, he pulled out a bottle of whiskey, the whiskey Thranduil used to drink, and settled for drinking the pain away.


End file.
